


There's A Good Reason This Table Is Broken Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet.

by im_ashamed



Category: RWBY
Genre: -ish. They have scrolls and Faunus, College AU, F/F, Fake Dating, Freezerburn - Freeform, Modern AU, Weiss is in a contest state of gay panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_ashamed/pseuds/im_ashamed
Summary: Yang asks Weiss to fake date her to show Blake that she totally didn't crush Yang's heart into dust. Weiss agrees because she needs a final push to come out to her family. This will be a purely transactional relationship which will not include any actual dating, personal re-evaluations, or lesbian disasters.Updates Fridays!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to say that Blake doesn't come off super well in this fic. I didn't write this to bash her, but I wanted to include a heads up in case she's your favorite character. Also, Ilia and Blake are a couple, as well as Ruby and Penny, but the ships are so minor it seemed cruel to tag them.

Weiss always thought a glass coffee table was only good for meeting a dramatic end, but she never expected her first ‘grown-up’ party to find her kneeling beside a pile of glass, blood, and blonde girl. Being half-right seemed to be her average for the night.

For example she, she had expected the girl to be screaming and crying in pain, but not in profanity.

The girl opens her mouth again, and Weiss braces herself.

“Blake…” The girl moans, “You CUNT.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk,” Weiss says, giving the girl’s hand a weak pat. She has stopped screaming, but she’s still saying the C-word with enough force to make her body jerk. It can’t be good for her.

“Shaddup,” The girl slurs. The directive is as unfocused as her eyes. Weiss wonders if her haziness is due to pain, alcohol, or blood loss. Probably a very potent mix of all three.

“Tell me about her,” Weiss says, placing the girl’s hand in her lap to further her poor attempts at comfort. “That might make you feel better.” She wishes she could do more, but moving the girl would be reckless, and ‘applying pressure to the wound’ would probably just force more glass into her back. Weiss prays for the ambulance to get here fast.

The girl doesn’t respond immediately. Weiss tries to ignore how eerie the quiet is. Not ten minutes ago this room was filled with people and music. Earthshaking bass and screaming people. People who were destroying her house.

Weiss flinches away from the pride she remembers feeling after inviting Indy and her girls to the party. She was so smart, wasn’t she? Indy would put the word out in her sorority, it would spread and spread, and soon the prodigious amount of alcohol and snacks Weiss had acquired would be put to good use. Soon she would be known as a party queen, sort of like how her mom used to be known as a great hostess. People would flock to her, and soon she would have a tight knit circle of friends with group chats, and inside jokes, and-and-

Weiss looks at the ceiling. It helps her swallow past the lump in her throat.

In that daydream she had a cute nickname like, ‘snowflake’, instead of, ‘that girl who kicked over a speaker and yelled, “The cops are coming!”

At least it got people moving. Weiss repeated the message all over the house. She had just breathed a sigh of relief that the door to her parents room was still locked, when she heard the crash. She skipped three stairs on the way down, certain some idiot had jumped through a window, or destroyed a family heirloom she had forgotten to hide.

Weiss thought she was panicking when she saw someone almost light the kitchen curtains on fire with a joint and decided that this party needed to end. Then she saw this girl lying in the remains of the coffee table, people actively stepping over and around her in their rush to get away. Weiss had forgotten what true Schnee panic looks like.

Calmly, carefully, she pulled her scroll out as she crossed the room. She stood beside the girl and glared white-hot murder at anyone who came close. With one hand she dialed nine-one-one and recited her address as though her house didn’t look like a rat-infested ship on fire. She was so polite she worried she sounded like a robot.

“This was my chance,” The girl says. Her voice is weak, but neither soft nor quiet. “It was like…She’s twenty-one, I’m awesome, we’re gonna get after it, yeah?”

“Right,” Weiss says. She gives the girl’s hand another rub, like it’s a bunny rabbit or something.

“And then she’s _staring_ at me, all big eyed, like I should’ve know…Ilia…” She trails off.

Weiss wonders what this Blake looks like. The girl on the floor is long and lean, with the kind of muscles that take serious effort. Just looking at them is making Weiss sweat. The girl looks asian, but has bleached her hair a golden blonde that burnishes her brown skin. She looks unearthly, to the point that Weiss would almost accept tonight as a weird dream she was having.

Maybe she should be trying to keep the girl awake?

“What does she look like?” Weiss asks.

“Ilia?”

“No, Blake. How fucking hot is she that she can turn down someone like you?”

The girl blinks, then cracks a grin. “Holy shit. I diddn’ know you swore.” She says. She sounds like she’s learned that Weiss can sword fight or something.

Weiss has no idea what that means, but then she hears sirens and the vice around her stomach eases.

“I’m going to let the paramedics in, alright?”

The girl closes her eyes and makes an affirmative noise.

Weiss shows the EMTs in, and then flits around uselessly. She feels the urge to ask if she can help, but she doubts it. Maybe she should offer them a drink?

She must be pretty annoying, because one of them-Nancy-takes her aside and starts asking questions. “Are you two friends?”

“Acquaintances,” Weiss says after a moment’s hesitation.

“Can you call her parents, or a partner, or—“

“My uncle!” The girl yells, startling everyone. She had been rolled on to her side and allowed her back to be prodded without complaint, but now she is animated once again.

“Babe,” She continues, “You hafta call my uncle.” She gropes towards her pocket before one of the EMTs stops her and carefully wiggles her scroll out.

“3150,” The girl says as Weiss accepts the scroll.

“Right,” Weiss says, and she’s thankful that the case is clean. The image of a blood spattered scroll case flashes through her mind and she has to gulp back bile. She taps out the code and then finds an uncle in the girl’s contacts. “Uncle Qrow?” She asks.

“That’s him. Say, ‘Yang’s in the hospital,’ and he’ll say, “Fucking again?’” She laughs at her own joke

“Shouldn’t you be in pain?” Weiss snaps. Yang laughs harder, then winces. Weiss looks away, chagrined, and taps Qrow’s number.

“What hospital are you taking her to?” Weiss asks as the scroll rings.

“St. Mary’s,” Nancy says, “It’s closest.” She turns to Yang, “Do you want your friend to ride with you?”

Weiss doesn’t know she’s holding her breath till Yang nods and she can exhale. It shouldn’t matter, but she can’t leave this girl. Not strange and drunk and heartbroken in a sterile hospital bed.

“Yang?” A gruff voice assaults Weiss’ ear. “You okay?”

“Yang’s in the hospital,” Weiss says automatically, “St. Mary’s on fifth.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Uncle Qrow barks.

“This is Weiss Schnee. Yang cut her back at my house, but she seems to be-“ Weiss glances at Yang and the incoming stretcher. One of the EMT’s gives Weiss a thumbs up and mouths, ‘okay’. “-Alright,” Weiss finishes. “She asked me to call you.”

“Fuck,” Qrow growls. Weiss catches the swish of sheets as he gets out of bed. “St. Mary’s on fifth. Shit, that’s so far. Okay, I’ll be there.”

“She looks pretty good,” Nancy tells Weiss just before they put Yang in the ambulance. “A lot of lacerations, but nothing super deep or in a vital area. Once the glass comes out and she’s cleaned up she’ll feel a lot better.”

“Baaaaaaaabe,” Yang slurs, “C’mon. Ride this ambulance.” She finds this statement hilarious.

 _Good lord,_ Weiss thinks, _if she feels any better she’s going to grope me._

“What kind of painkiller did you give her?” She asks, trying to ignore her heating face.

Nancy shakes her head. “We didn’t. The worst pain is over already. She’s lucky she’s drunk and has a friend with her.” There’s a question mark on that ‘friend’ but Weiss does not deign to acknowledge it. She’s used to ignoring prodding half-questions about her sexuality.

Speaking of, she should call her sister. If it’s going to be a long night she might as well make sure that everyone puts in their hours.


	2. Chapter 2

Yang is lying on her stomach. She wanted to ask a nurse if she could get off this waterbed, but then she remembered that hospitals don’t have waterbeds. Still, the way the sheets are roiling beneath her is very suspicious.

Yang lets her mind drift along with her body. For a while the night was on loop in the back of her head, but now she has rewound to the last couple of months. Meeting Blake, thinking it would be cool if she opened with a one liner instead of just complimenting her hat.

“Nothing like a shitty eight am philosophy class to really make you ask, ‘Why are we here?’, right?”

Blake did not laugh. She let Yang stew in her stinker for a moment before she smiled and said, “Actually, I think Professor Demos makes some good points.”

“Um, I like your hat.”

God, she was so lame. No wonder Blake didn’t want her. Her liking Blake…It was, like, totally gross.

Yang laughs at the commentating valley girl in her head.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Someone says.

Yang blinks and raises her head a little. The movement adds a touch more kerosene to the fire on her back. She drops back down. Right. Back injury. Three am. Hospital. And somehow she just laughed in front of the nurses.

It seemed odd that she could forget, but she is a little drunk and very tired. She can feel shards of glass coming out of her back, the way they slide against her skin, but everything else is just a dull burn. Yang hears a snip of scissors. Scissors? For thread, maybe. They must be sewing parts of her back together.

Yang clenches her eyes shut tight to ward away the image of needles in her skin. Lights flash behind her eyelids, as they often do when she is falling asleep.

She had been so sure she and Blake were flirting. Blake had said words to her that she had turned over in her mind for days after, like a pretty rock you keep in your pocket and run your fingers over whenever you can. “With muscles like that…Smart and pretty, will wonders never cease…Whoso list to hunt…” Alright, that last one was a poem, but the way Blake had whispered it to her, the way her lips had caressed those last two lines… “Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am, and wild to hold, though I seem tame.”

If you had told Yang last year she would be trying to memorize five hundred year old poem like it was her favorite song she would have asked what the hell you were trying to prove.

A huge sliver of glass cuts through Yang’s thoughts as it is pulled out from under her skin. It feels like she is bleeding ice.

“Last one,” A nurse says.

“Yaaaay…” Yang says into her arms. How did this even happen?

Yang could hear Blake making plans with her.

“Twenty-one? Awesome! We’ve got to do something together. This is a very important birthday, missy.”

“Indy told me about a party this weekend. At a house in Atlas.”

“Ooo, the fancy part of town. That’s way swankier than me just taking you to Bronco’s,” Yang said. It was the perfect opening for Blake to lay her hand on Yang’s arm and say, “I’d much rather do that,” with some serious contact from those gorgeous eyes.

Instead she just stood there on the steps of the sociology building and looked perfect. She looked that way through the whole conversation, but Yang could only remember either the talking or the way Blake was looking. She didn’t have enough hard drive to load two massive files like that at once.

Blake was art. From the way her hair brushed her shoulders, to the way the light hit her eyes, to the way her cat ears cocked. It always looked deliberate, as though she had been carefully arranged by an old master. The crumbling steps became gothic under her boots, the sunlight spilling across campus was gold and honey instead of yet another reminder that their class _ended_ at nine-fifteen.

Even with her eyes huge and worried, mouth small, not resisting as the tide of people carried her away. Every line of her face was perfectly placed to make Yang feel sorrow and pain and betrayal.

Though that might have been partially her fault. 

She was such a dumbass. All night, any suggestion she liked was followed by, “It’s Blake’s birthday, right?” Sun would laugh and say, “Good excuse as any!”. Sienna rolled her eyes a little, but they lit up anytime Yang offered her another Jell-O shot, and they never glazed over when Yang told yet another Ruby story. She had made them, after all. The girl had a gift for sugar.

Ilia was….there.

Yang yelps. Something has pricked her, but she won’t open her eyes. Could she feel more of her back? Or was the sensation simmering away? She takes a deep breath and falls back into the darkness behind her eyes.

Ilia was fine. Yang hadn’t really noticed her. She was always around Sun and/or Sienna, and she paled in comparison. She was just sweet and quiet….Jesus, was the patriarchy right? Was that what Blake wanted in a girl? Fuck, Yang couldn’t even take that perso—

Yang groans at a sharp tug on her flesh.

“Last one,” Someone says, and Yang can’t even say which side of her they’re on. She’s spinning in darkness, eyes still shut tight. God, she wants to sleep, but people won’t stop touching her back, making little flames ripple up her spine.

“Now we just have to bandage you up.”

“Let’s do ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’!” Yang had said, drunk and happy and desperate to dance on a table.

“What?!” Sienna yelled, though her volume was likely due to the music already playing, not the absurdity of Yang’s statement.

“It’s Blake’s birthday!” Yang yelled back. She turned to Blake. She had one arm around Blake’s shoulders, so there was no need for Yang to turn except to bump Blake’s hip and try to catch her eyes. They were the color of glow sticks, and how could Yang not ask, “Doncha want some hot people to dance for you?”

“It _is_ my birthday,” Blake said, with the glint in her eye she’d had since her third drink.

“Fuck yeah!” Yang said, and then cut through the crowd like a wildfire, looking for a table. By the time she found one, and got Sienna and Sun up on it, and they managed to teach Sun like two steps from ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’—

Well, by then Blake and Ilia were propped up against a speaker, kissing slow and lazy like they’d done it a million times before.

Then a girl ran in, knocked over the other speaker, and screamed, “THE COPS ARE COMING!” like a squeaky-voiced Paul Revere.

Sun and Sienna dived into the crowd like rats off a sinking ship. But Yang, clumsy, single-minded FUCK that she was, she just stepped forward off the table, the better to reach Blake.

Her foot slid on the hardwood. She went down and horizontal.

She was treated to a slow motion replay as it happed, the one you get when you know you’re falling and that there’s nothing you can do to stop the crash.

The pain roared up her back like the moment flame meets gas. It surged through her, along with the desperate refrain: Nonononononononononono—

Yang lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind whirling from wheelchairs to Charlie Brown screaming, “ARRGH, I KILLED MYSELF!”

Yang turned her head, though she had no idea if she should move her vertebra. She had to find Blake. She couldn’t see the speaker where Blake had been, but she saw Blake coming towards her with huge, worried eyes.

There must have been sound, but Yang’s body had put the world on mute. A strand of hair teased Blake’s cheek as she turned. Sun had an arm around her waist, his head down. Ilia must have been there, too, and Sienna, but in the crowd of people between them Yang only had eyes for the back of Blake’s head.

“Okay, all done.”

Yang blinks. Did she actually fall asleep? The bed is no longer wriggling lasciviously beneath her, and her back feels stiff and cool. Better.

“Ma’am? Will she be alright?”

Yang twists her neck back and around to see the girl talking. It’s Miss. White who was patting her hand earlier. Yang didn’t get a good look at her then, and she can’t now with her neck cramping up in this position.

“Probably. I don’t think she has training, but a pretty strong natural aura. Nothing went too deep and it was fairly clean.” The nurse’s face dips into Yang’s view, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Yang says, though it’s a little more slurred than necessary.

The nurse turns to Miss. White. “Are you a family member, a partner…”

“Oh, I—“

Something sparks in Yang’s mind. “Partner!” She yells over the girl’s denial. Then she bursts out laughing, even though it shocks her ribs and makes her back ache. “She’s my girlfriend, man. Get with it.”

“I’m going to tell her how to help take care of you, then. Alright?”

Yang makes an affirmative noise, and though the girl is stuttering and stammering, she gives up quick and dutifully accepts the information. Once the nurse leaves, though, Yang can almost feel Miss. White’s anger flare.

“Why did you tell her that I’m your girlfriend?!”

Yang resists the urge to cackle manically and say, “All according to keikaku.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter goes up Tuesday this time! Thank you for all the nice comments on the last one!


	3. Chapter 3

Weiss had learned a lot about Yang in the last half hour. She hadn’t meant to! She just wanted to check if there was anyone else she should tell Yang was in the hospital. Yeah. Just a quick scroll through her contacts.

Weiss was expecting Yang to be one of those people whose contacts’ were ‘Wifey’, or ‘Dillhole’, or just a string of emojis; A convention which made Weiss’ eye twitch. Yang was sparing, however. The most ornate name was ‘sis’ framed with red and black hearts. The rest were normal names, ‘dad’, and ‘Michelle study partner’, stuff like that.

Blake had a kitty and a black heart after her name. There was a photo of her, too, a gorgeous one of her leaning against a tree with sunlight melting over her shoulders and shining through her hair. Her eyes seemed to glow under the wide brim of her hat. She was twice as beautiful as Weiss had expected.

Okay, maybe she snooped a little. It was all justified, though, now that Yang is going, “ ‘Cause you’re gonna be my girlfriend,” with shocking confidence.

“And why is that?”

“Listen,” Yang puts one of her hands on the bed like she is going to push herself up.

“No no no,” Weiss says, with a touch of Yang’s shoulder, “The nurse said you should sleep like that.”

“I’m not asleep,” Yang mutters, but stays down. “I meant you’re gonna be my pretend girlfriend.”

Pretend girlfriend? As in, pretend making out? Pretend giving her father a heart attack? Pretend getting married and having beautiful house full of art and plants?

“We aren’t even pretend friends,” Weiss says, “And, honestly, I’ve had enough of those.”

Yang laughs, “Ooh, careful you don’t cut yourself on that edge, lord.” She rolls her head to the side so one of her eyes is properly visible. Weiss stares at it, wondering how well Yang can see her from this angle.

“Look, I’m just thinking, how can I come up swinging?”

“You don’t. The nurse said only light exercise—“

Yang waves one hand lazily through the air. Her wrist comes near Weiss’ face. She catches the perfume Yang must have used earlier in the night. Smokey sweetness like burning maples. “I get it, Princess, you took notes.”

“If you call me princess again, I will poke your back.”

Yang yelps, but the staccato rhythm of high heels cuts through their conversation.

“Weiss?” Winter says, sweeping into the room. It’s one of those big, open ones with a couple of cots, but for now Weiss and Yang are the only ones there.

“Winter!” Weiss says, automatically putting a hand on Yang’s head before she can hurt her neck trying to crane it around. Whoa, her hair is softer than Weiss expected.

Winter strides up to Yang’s bed with a sigh of relief. She folds her arms behind her back and regains some composure. Her police officer voice kicks in. “You seem to be alright. And her?” She nods towards Yang and Weiss snatches her hand away.

“I’ve been better,” Yang says, “Is your name seriously Winter? Like the season? Whoa, wait, is you hair gene-“ Yang rises on her elbows, but instantly thinks better of it and lowers back down.

Winter ignores her. “Were you drinking?” She asks Weiss.

“I am twenty-one now.”

“Drinking with…her?” Winter raises a brow at Yang which makes even Weiss feel like something Winter just scraped off her shoe.

“Oh yeeeeaaah,” Yang says, too loud and exaggerated. “We were gonna to go Vegas together, if I hadn’t lost the fight with that table.

“Shut up,” Weiss says, pushing Yang’s head down again.

Yang giggles, and Weiss becomes uncomfortably aware of the color in her cheeks.

“It isn’t like that,” Weiss says to her sister, and Winter nods. They aren’t the closest, but Weiss knows that Winter understands that this is a joke.

“Has she been discharged?” Winter asks.

“I don’t think so,” Weiss says, “Could you go check?”

“Of course.” Winter pauses for a moment. Weiss wouldn’t call it hesitation because her sister doesn’t hesitate, but there is a flicker of uncertainty across her face.

Suddenly Winter leans into Weiss and lowers her voice so not even Yang can hear. “I’m glad you’re alright,” She says, and kisses Weiss’ forehead.

Then she straightens up and says to Yang, “Would you like us to take you home?”

There is a pause while Winter’s kiss cools on Weiss’ forehead. Winter hasn’t done anything like that since Weiss got the bandage off her eyelid, and Weiss wonders if it’s something about hospitals. Besides, it’s not like she was actually in imminent danger this time.

“Oh, are you actually talking to me now?” Yang asks. She turns her head to look at Winter, but Weiss doesn’t move her hand so Yang’s hair slides over her eyes, ruining her cutting remark in the process.

“I’ll be back,” Winter says, already headed for the door. “The two of you, discuss.”

“Do you need a ride?” Weiss says, then adds, “Sorry about Winter. She can be a little stiff in situations like this.”

‘Stiff’ barely rhymes with the word Yang is thinking of, but she lets it slide. She has been going over this fake girlfriend plan for three whole minutes now and it’s really starting to come together in her head.

“So, are you going to fake date me or what?”

Weiss falls back, flustered. Yang gustily blows hair off her face.

“A-are you still on about that?”

“It’ll just be for a few weeks, okay? And all you have to do is take a few photos with me, for the ‘grams and the ‘chats, you know, and like, pick me up after class a few times.”

“Why? Who are you showing off to?”

Yang sighs. Finally Weiss is standing in her field of vision, and there’s something a little contradictory about the way she looks. White blonde hair and rosy cheeks. Short, but with a full-grown figure. Modest, lacy white dress, badass scar over her right eye. Yang has to admit, all together it’s a pretty cool effect, though that could be the sleep-deprivation talking.

“Okay, so, remember Blake from earlier?”

“Her name is branded into my eardrums, yes.”

“I don’t want to be a pity case to her. I don’t want her to think I went home and cried about her.”

Weiss takes a step closer, and Yang is surprised by the anger in her stiff shoulders. “If she left you like that she has no right to pity you. She should apologize. She should be _ashamed_.”

She says the last word so sharply Yang believes if Blake were here it would cut straight through her. Weiss’ eyes are on fire. Yang doesn’t quite gasp, but she inhales a bit faster than she meant to.

“Yeah,” Yang says, trying to regain her composure, “And she should be thinking, ‘Damn, I missed out,’ right?”

Weiss hesitates. “Us dating isn’t necessary for that.”

“Please. Help me kick her ass, just a little. I’ve been mooning over her for weeks, like an idiot. I need her to think it was all bullshit. That I don’t care just as much as she doesn’t.”

The door opens and they both jump.

“Yang?” Qrow says.

“Qrow!” Yang says, and her throat gets tight for a minute. It’s been a blast, almost dying and going toe to toe with the ice queens, but when she sees her uncle a wave of relief hits her so hard her eyes sting.

Qrow runs over and checks her back. He asks her if it hurts, if they gave her anything for pain, and only once he’s sure she’s okay does he turn to Weiss.

“Hey, you the girl that brought her in?”  
“She’s my girlfriend,” Yang says, and Weiss looks away, blushing furiously.

Yang expects her to brush it off, but instead she says, “Yeah, I am,” with the tiniest smile.

Weiss’ eyes meet Yang’s, and she can almost feel the connection. A vibration runs through her, like their swords just clashed in mid-air. “For at least the rest of the semester,” Weiss adds, and Yang knows: It’s on.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Yang goes to school on Monday. Taiyang almost spit-takes his coffee when she walks into the kitchen, dressed and ready. She even put her school stuff in a tote bag so it wouldn’t be pressed to her back.

“Do you seriously want me to take you to school?” Taiyang asks, watching in wide-eyed disbelief as Yang grabs a banana and starts cutting it into a bowl.

“I’m not going on Tuesday,” She says. It’s a heavier day for her, two long classes three hours apart, instead of two short ones right next to each other. Also, her philosophy class with Blake is on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

It’s not that Yang doesn’t want to see Blake, it’s that she doesn’t want Blake to glance up form whatever book she’s reading and give Yang a little smile and “Good morning.” like it’s any other Tuesday. Yang knows that moment is coming, though, since what happened cleary makes no difference to Blake.

Yang’s scroll can attest to that. Blake hasn’t sent so much as a text message with a question mark since Friday. It’s starting to piss Yang off. That special kind of pissed only Yang ever seems to catch. Ruby’s never felt like this, she’s sure, and not Taiyang. Maybe it’s from her mom. This feeling like her heart is twisting on a string, straining at its’ leash. The need to slam her fists into the ground, break the skin along their sides, smash and smash until everything is broken and her throat is raw and salty with exertion.

“You’re up?” Ruby says as she walks into the kitchen.

Yang takes a breath. It’s fine. She is not going to break Blake’s face. She’s just going to rub her hot, rich girlfriend in it.

“Yeah, but you aren’t,” Yang says, gesturing at Ruby’s pajamas.

“It’s spirit week!” Ruby says, throwing her arms into the air like she’s a cheerleader.

“In that case you’re adorable,” Yang says, giving Ruby’s cheek a tap with her finger as she brushes past her for the milk.

“Thanks,” Ruby says. She starts in on her morning pop-tart, still standing at the counter. “Seriously though, you’re going to school?”

“If dad will drive me,” Yang says, making it sound like a joke even as she looks at Taiyang for approval.

He shrugs. “If you’re sure you want to go. But you should take a cab home if you don’t feel up to the bus.”

Yang almost argues out of habit-it’s only 15 minutes on one bus and taxis are expensive-but she decides a cab might be nice and reserves the right to use one.

They drop Ruby off first. She runs to the school gate, where she’s met by a friend of hers. Yang thinks his name is Jaune. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt with a Pumpkin Pete logo on it, basically like Ruby’s pajamas but with less style. Yang cranes her neck as Taiyang pulls out of the parking lot. Most of the student body looks like Ruby and Jaune, although Yang does clock a few girls in lingerie, and some class-clowns in feety pajamas or holding teddy-bears.

As soon as Yang faces the road again energy drains out of her. She isn’t going to high school to laugh with her friends over their goofy pajamas. Most days college can kick high school’s ass, but it’s easy to miss the structure and the simple friendships. Yang shifts in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. She honestly does feel a lot better than she did on Friday, but only when she isn’t pulling her skin the wrong way.

Her scroll buzzes.

 

 **Weiss Schnee:** Will you be on campus today?

 

Weiss stares at her scroll screen. She isn’t usually this neurotic about texts, but she wants to see that Yang has read it. Wants to see those little grey dots appear.

“Who are you texting?” Winter asks.

Weiss jumps. She doesn’t have class till noon, and Winter has a late shift, so they’re getting breakfast together. Weiss knew it was stupid to take her scroll out while Winter was in the bathroom, but she couldn’t help it. She told herself she wouldn’t text Yang unless she didn’t hear anything by Monday, and, well, it’s finally Monday.

“Yang,” Weiss says, “That girl from the hospital. Just making sure she’s okay.” And if that pretend girlfriend thing is still on.

Weiss spent a lot of the weekend thinking about it. Cooking, cleaning, doing homework, reading-whatever she was doing she would eventually come to her senses after staring off into space for minutes at a time, wondering how this pretend girlfriend thing worked.

Sunday night she sat down and wrote some pros and cons.

_Cons: Not sure dad would be okay with it. Not sure Winter would be okay with it._

She crossed that out and wrote: _Family might disapprove._ It only really counted as one con.

_Yang might be a terrible person_

_She might have been joking and will laugh if I ask her about it._

Weiss crossed that out because it didn’t count. It wouldn’t matter to her if Yang went, “Didn’t you realize I was kidding?!” and laughed. Weiss would be incredibly embarrassed, but Yang had sixteen stitches in her back, so who was the real loser?

_Might be very uncomfortable._

_Face on unknown person’s social media._

_Blake might threaten to cut me._

Weiss crossed out the last one. She doubted Blake would be that overprotective when she couldn’t be assed to call Yang an ambulance.

_Pros:_

Weiss went to write, “Very pretty.” but her pen did something else entirely. It slanted the V into an I and wrote: _If dad and Winter freak out, I can just dump her and say I’m cured and it won’t hurt because it won’t be real._

Weiss stared at the words. It…wasn’t the worst plan. Her family was jewish, and neither of her parents had ever been the ‘Fags burn in hell’ type, but at the same time they didn’t exactly have lots of gay friends. Weiss knew her dad had worked with a Mark who was gay because he worked with two other Marks. They were known as GayMark, OldMark, and JewishMark, respectively, and he talked as much shit about GayMark as the other two.

Sex wasn’t a popular topic in the Schnee household. The only time Weiss had actually discussed it with a family member was when her mother gave her ‘the talk’. She was eleven, her period had started and Mrs. Schnee decided it was a good time to explain condoms, and that Weiss didn’t have to have sex if she didn’t want to. Not the worst things a mother could say, but largely irrelevant to Weiss’ life.

Of course, saying, “I have a girlfriend,” wasn’t very sex neutral, but Weiss simply could not form the word ‘lesbian’ in front of her sister or father. Saying ‘girlfriend’ seemed easier. Mundane. Not a coming out, just a statement of fact, like, ‘I bought that dress’. It would be much harder to argue with. A done deal that Winter and Father could shrug their shoulders at and move past.

And, if they reacted in a more, ‘I will disown you!’ sort of way, Weiss could dump her fake girlfriend and pretend to be cured. Dating a girl was easily remedied. Being a lesbian was not.

Weiss would have preferred to get Winter’s opinion on lesbians by asking a subtle question, but at the moment Weiss was pretty sure she could say, ‘Hey, Winter, should I stop doing coke?’, and Winter would say, ‘Pick up some milk while you’re out’.

Ever since the hospital Winter had been as checked out as Weiss. The two of them had cleaned in their separate dazes, putting the house to rights as best they could. The damage wasn’t as bad as Weiss had thought. The worst thing, by far, was the coffee table, but once it was gone, and the blood had been mopped up, the living room stopped looking like a crime scene. Weiss had wondered when Winter would lecture her, punish her, or, worst, tell father, but instead she had invited Weiss to breakfast and said she had no such plans.

“You’re bound to make some bad decisions at this age, and I’m glad you used up so much of your stupidity quota on something so harmless. For you,” She added, nodding in acknowledgement of Yang. 

Weiss was high on approval and hot chocolate. She sent the text she’d been waiting all weekend to send.

 

 **Yang:** Yeah. I have class from 10 to 12. Then I’m done. You wanna meet up?

 **Weiss:** Yes, to discuss parameters.

 

Yang squints at the message again. She is in the library, doing homework, waiting for her gang theory class to start, giving her ample time to wonder what Weiss means. This fake dating thing doesn’t need something as serious as ‘parameters’, does it? But she’s been waiting all weekend for this text, and she suggested it. Yang says she can meet up anywhere near main campus, and hopes Weiss won’t direct her to an official notary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I do and extra update and then forget to update at my regular time. Sorry this chapter is late!


	5. Chapter 5

Weiss suggests that they meet at the law building. It turns out to have a hidden patio where official looking law students eat lunch. Cool, quiet, and out of the way. No one Yang knows is likely to come by and wonder what she’s up to.

Weiss is already there when Yang arrives, looking a lot like a law student herself in a modestly cut blue dress, with a silver laptop bag resting at her feet.

“Hello,” Weiss says as she gets out a pen and piece of paper, “How are you?”

“Good,” Yang says, trying to shrug her shoulders gently. “I feel a lot better. The stitches come out Saturday. The nurse said I’ll have some pretty rad scars.”

Weiss blinks. “She didn’t actually call them rad, did she?”

Yang laughs and plunks her backpack down. “Trust me, it’s what she meant. The ladies love scars,” She adds, with a broad gesture to all the invisible, scar-loving ladies surrounding them.

“I’m…glad you feel better.” Weiss clicks her pen. “So, the parameters. How long do you think this will last?”

Yang tries to sit up straight and take this as seriously as Weiss is. “A few weeks? Maybe till the semester ends.”

“I believe reading day is May 6th,” Weiss says, “Let’s set that for the expected end date. But we might stop sooner.”

“Yeah. I guess. Like if Blake and I get together.”  
Weiss gapes at Yang. Only for a moment before she regains her composure, but long enough for Yang to decide she likes it more than Weiss’ mini-lawyer act. 

“Would you seriously get with her now?” Weiss says.

It was something Yang blurted out without thinking. Now she considers. “I haven’t really seen her since Friday, so I don’t know yet.”

“Has she called, though? Texted?”

“No, but—“

“The last time this girl saw you, you were lying in a pool of blood and broken glass, and she can’t even text?”

Yang is having trouble feeling pissed while she’s watching Weiss get so pissed for her. Weiss is gripping her pen so hard her arm is shaking. It is somewhere between scary and soothing, and Yang is pretty sure whatever she says next will tip it either way.

“So, what are your other parameters?” She asks.

Weiss looks back at the paper she’s writing on. “No overtly sexual photographs.”

“What’s overtly sexual? Cause I definitely want to show her some ‘we banged’ photos.”  
Yang is disappointed when Weiss’ cheeks don’t color. “I suppose we can have suggestive images, but no nudity or anything too explicit.”

“Can I post stuff on snapchat of you in my bed with a caption about having great ‘sleepovers’?” Yang asks, leaning in, hoping she can make Weiss’ color rise.

Instead she gets a laugh. Better yet. “I’ve never met someone who could make quotes appear around a word without using their fingers.”

“I’m truly gifted,” Yang says, wriggling her eyebrows Groucho Marx style.

Weiss starts writing again. “I think we’re both in agreement about this. We’ll talk if either of us feels uncomfortable with a photo. Also,” She looks up, “You’ll delete the photos when I tell you to, correct? All of them, not just the ones on social media.”

“Sure. You can keep mine, though. I’ve got worse stuff on other people’s scrolls.”  
Weiss leans towards Yang and lowers her voice like this is something scandalous. “You let people keep photos like that of you?”

Yang catches herself before she can shrug. Jesus, she never noticed how much she did that before it hurt so dang much. “It’s no big deal. I’m not running for office.”

“But still, with like two clicks the whole word could see your…everything.”

“So? I look hot.” Yang wishes Weiss didn’t look so concerned. Not angry or disapproving, but genuinely worried. “I took the pictures, I sent them, if someone posts them it’s a dick move, but I’ll get over it.”

“But-“

“Hey, howsabout you add a bullet, ‘No Judging Yang’s Bad Decisions’, okay?”

Weiss snorts, but she actually writes it down. “Fine. I guess if you aren’t my real girlfriend it’s not really any of my business.” She taps the paper with her pen. “Okay, so, basically, we’ll post some pictures to your accounts-“

“And your accounts.”

“And my accounts, I’ll pick you up where Blake can see, you can brag about me whenever you want-“

“What’s there to brag about? I mean,” Yang adds, realizing how that might sound, “Are you a genius? I know you’re crazy rich but is there anything cool about you?”

Weiss thinks for a minute. Yang knows how hard it is to find anything interesting to say about yourself when asked-she’s played icebreakers, hasn’t she?-so she keeps talking to give Weiss a minute. “I’ll tell her you’re great in bed, of course.”

Finally the ice queen cracks and a blush rises to her cheeks. “That is not necessary,” She mumbles. “You can tell her I’m a good fencer, though. I placed second in nationals when I was in high school.”

“Seriously?” Yang’s eyes light up, “Oh my god, is that how you got that scar? After hours duel?”

Weiss laughs but it sounds wrong, like there’s a membrane in her throat the laugh has to be forced through. “I wish. You can brag about me being rich, too, I guess.”  
“Hey, write down, ‘Weiss must buy Yang something expensive she can show off in class’.”

“No,” Weiss says, picking up the paper as though Yang might lunge for it. “I’m fake dating you as a favor, remember? I don’t have to buy you anything on top of that.”

Yang swipes at the paper in Weiss’ hands. “Just a little something from Cartier. A few diamonds to remember you by.”

Weiss smacks Yang’s hand away, laughing. “Maybe I’ll buy you a smoothie. is that close enough? A mango, the topaz of the jungle.”

“Maybe we should rip that up and write a sugar baby contract instead.”

“Look, if you’re not going to take this fake dating seriously I can leave,” Weiss warns, sounding so severe they both dissolve into giggles.

Eventually they get agree on enough parameters to satisfy Weiss. She lets Yang read it, and it looks more or less like Yang was expecting. She still doesn’t get why they need to do this, but she signs it.

“Hey,” Yang says as she hands back Weiss’ pen, trying to sound like she hasn’t been mulling this over for the last few minutes, “Why don’t we go to my house and do a photoshoot?”

“A photoshoot?”

“Like we’ll take a bunch of pictures I can post for a few days. So I don’t have to call you up all the time.”

“That’s pretty smart,” Weiss says, though she instantly regrets it. Did she sound condescending?

But Yang laughs and says, “You’ve got me beat on both counts. I’m just trying to keep up.”

Weiss’s stomach feels like half-melted ice cream sloshing around the bottom of a carton. It’s the weirdest sensation. _This must be what it’s like the have a girl flirt with you,_ Weiss thinks, and if it’s weird, at least it is as singular as she expected.

“Do you want to go to my house or yours?” Weiss asks.

“Mine would be nice. No offense, but your place has some bad memories.”

Weiss laughs, in the hopes that Yang is mostly joking, and says, “So, do you have a car? Or should we take mine?”

“You have a car?”

“Sure. It’s right over here.” Weiss says, gesturing to the tiny parking lot at the edge of the law building and grabbing her bag so they can leave.

Yang does that weird thing people do sometimes when they see Weiss’ car:  
“Jesus FUCK. So you’re, like, RICH-rich, huh?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Weiss says, though she knows a mercedes S-class is a bit much for a college student to be cruising around in. She hadn’t even wanted a car, but her dad insisted she get one once she started college and she had more or less ignored his insistence until this was sitting in the driveway.

“Not that big a-god, just looking at this thing makes it hard for me to miss my motorcycle.”

Weiss tosses their bags in the backseat. “You have a motorcycle?”

“Had. I-“ Yang laughs uneasily. “I saw some guys in a car saying nasty stuff to a girl on the sidewalk and, uh, well, their car got the worst of it.”  
_Jesus, FUCK,_ Weiss thinks, _so you’re like, THE woman of my dreams, huh?_ Thank god the car starts by pushing a button. Weiss could not trust her hands to fit a key in a lock at the moment. “Was it worth it?”

Yang does a little shimmy of indecision. “I probably could have done something less destructive, but I don’t regret it.”

Yang gives Weiss directions to her house, and Weiss thinks everything is going well. She’s doing a great job of driving. Checking her mirrors, signaling, making sure she knows what’s in her blind spot.

It’s about the third time Weiss checks her side mirrors that she realizes that she’s nervous. She hasn’t been to friend’s house in a long time. Eighth grade. She knows the exact day, but she tries not to think about it.

Weiss takes a deep breath through her nose. She will not be running out of Yang’s house in tears. Probably. At least, it can’t go as bad as it did back then.

“Turn right here,” Yang says, and Weiss turns onto a residential street. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but the house Yang tells her to stop in front of is fitting. It’s yellow brick with azaleas climbing up a wall next to the front door. It’s messy inside, letters overflowing on a table by the door, books spread out on the coffee table in the living room like someone was doing homework there.

“Sorry, the place is a wreck,” Yang says, “We didn’t know you were coming.”She dumps her backpack by the door and heads straight to the kitchen. “You want anything to eat? Drink?”

Weiss sets her bag down by Yang’s. “No. Um, what sort of pictures do you want to take?”

Yang leans on the kitchen counter, one hand in a box of graham cracker bunnies. She munches thoughtfully. “A couple Netflix and chill ones. A sleepover one. Maybe one with dad and Ruby? Make us look official.”  
“Ruby?”

“My sister,” Yang says through her mouthful of bunnies. “She’s a senior in high school.” Yang checks the clock on the oven. “We should get started on the photos before she gets back from school.”

Weiss follows Yang out of the kitchen to her bedroom down the hall. “Are you going to tell her about us?”

“Good question,” Yang says as she kicks open her bedroom door. It’s not as much of a disaster as Weiss expected. There’s a bulging gym bag, clothes everywhere, and three towels on the bed, but it all sort of pales in front of the enormous phoenix painting on the opposite wall. The gilding and sharp brushstrokes are magnetic. It draws Weiss across the room till she can see the texture of the paint and the way dozens of abstract lines come together to create a bird being reborn from its’ own flames.

“Who made this?” Weiss asks, tilting her head so the painting shimmers.

Yang tosses the bunnies on the bed, then begins pulling all the towels off. “My mom.”

“It belongs in a museum,” Weiss breathes, “No offense to your room,” She adds, kicking aside a discarded deodorant tube.

Yang laughs, but Weiss notices that her eyes stay intensely focused on her sheets. “Hey, it ain’t the louvre, but it’s home. What should we be watching?”

“Something long and sad,” Weiss says, “Like, you could only watch it with someone you like who’s going to be around for a while.”

“Avatar the last airbender it is!” Yang says as she leaves the room again.

“Not Avatar!” Weiss calls after her, “Something sad!”

Yang returns with a beat-up laptop and rolls her eyes. “Fine, Bojack Horseman.”

“Does it have to be animated?”

“We aren’t actually gonna watch it, Princess.”  
Weiss raises her finger threateningly. “Your back. I will poke it.”  
Yang giggles. but she crab walks to her bed so Weiss can’t get at her back. “What’s wrong with ‘princess’? It’s cute!”

“It’s cliched. And it makes me sound ditzy.”

Yang drops her laptop on her bed. “Okay, I’ll think up a better pet name while you get changed.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

“Is that seriously what you would wear to watch TV all day?”

Weiss rubs the fabric. Despite its’ prim appearance the dress is pretty comfortable. But Yang is right.

“What should I-“ Weiss begins, just as Yang tosses her some clothes that were draped over the chair by her bed.

“Bathroom’s on the left.”

It takes Weiss a while to change. The clothes are too loose on her, though that’s probably the point. It’s a big t-shirt from some place called “Thai King Palace” and a pair of sweatpants. Both are worn soft and thin and are ridiculously comfortable, even if they’re not flattering at all. Weiss knots the shirt at her waist and ties the pants’ drawstring as tightly as possible, but she still looks like a blob.

When Weiss comes back to the bedroom she figures she’ll have to explain what took her so long.

Instead she nearly has a heart attack.

“Hey,” Yang says from the bed, with the sleepiest, most inviting smile Weiss has ever seen. Yang has changed from a loose t-shirt and jeans to a pair of boxers, and a flannel shirt with only two closed buttons, just barely covering her breasts. It’s like she bought her outfit at “Weiss’ Gay Dreams LTD”.

“Hey,” Weiss says. She moves to sit on the bed, but then says, “Wait!” drops her clothes and pulls out her scroll. She snaps about five pictures of Yang in a row.

“Nice,” Yang says, with a little laugh. “Now come here. Let me fix your hair.”

“It doesn’t need fixing,” Weiss says, though she does walk to the bed.

“You’re right,” Yang says, “It needs messing.” She pauses for a minute, her hands hovering in the air by Weiss head. When Weiss doesn’t move away she pulls her fingers through Weiss’ ponytail, separating waves and fluffing them as best she can.

Weiss’ soul leaves her body. She has no idea how she manages to sit on Yang’s bed, take more photos, and complain about homework. Her legs are jelly, but her mind is doing a happy dance with choreography more intricate than a K-pop video.

Fifty photos and half an episode of BoJack Horseman later there’s a knock at the door that startles them both.

“Come in,” Yang yells.

A small girl with dark hair pokes her head in. “Oh, you _are_ talking to someone!”

“This is Weiss. She took me to the hospital on Friday.”

“Saturday morning,” Ruby says, coming to sit on Yang’s bed. Yang doesn’t so much kick Ruby as shove Ruby’s thigh with her foot. Ruby teeters on the edge of the mattress and has to grab the covers to say on, but she laughs.

“Wait,” She says, leaning closer to Weiss, “Did Yang really destroy a table?”

Ruby’s eyes are grey, surprising against her tan skin, and Weiss tries to move further away from their bright gaze, but she’s already leaning against the wall. “It was a glass table.”  
“No way!” Ruby says to Yang. “There is no way you went through a whole table. You’re not heavy enough.”

“Kinetic energy,” Weiss says like she has any idea what that means. “An object in motion can create a lot more force than an object at rest.”  
“So?”

“So her falling had more force than just standing on it. Ergo, it broke.”  
“Wow,” Yang says with wide eyes, “You almost sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“It was very impressive,” Ruby says, and she actually sounds sincere. “But I have one question,” Ruby points at Yang, “If you’re up here eating bunnies, and I’m up here eating bunnies, who’s making dinner?”

Yang groans and stands up. She carefully stretches her arms over her head. “I guess that’s me.”  
Ruby nods and says to Weiss, “We’re having Yang’s famous feet fried rice.”  
“You fry it with your feet?” Weiss asks. “Won’t that be hard on your back?”

Yang cuffs Ruby on the back of the head, not hard, but so her bob swings around her cheeks. “It’s totally normal friend rice.”  
“It totally smells like feet,” Ruby whispers to Weiss.

“Who said you could be in my room?!”

Ruby laughs and bounces off the bed. “Hey, I can’t wait for you to make it. What does that say about me?”

Ruby leaves and Yang shakes her head. “It doesn’t really smell like feet,” Yang says, though she can’t seem to meet Weiss’ eyes. For a second Weiss thinks Yang’s trying to hide a laugh, but there’s worry on her face.

This might be the first time Weiss has seen Yang act self-conscious. For a moment she can’t find a suitable response.

“Okay, it does kind of smell like feet, but it tastes amazing. We don’t eat it cause we’re a family of foot fetishists or something.”

Weiss laughs in the hopes that Yang is fishing for one, then stands up. “As much as I would like to prove that, I should probably get going.”

“Yeah. You’re picking me up from class on Thrusday, though, right?”

“Nine-fifteen. Sociology building. I’ll be there.” Weiss says. She picks up her dress and squeezes it to her chest, because somehow she knows Yang is going to smile at her and say, “I’ll be waiting.”

And when she does Weiss needs something to hide her palpitations.


	6. Chapter 6

Yang wakes up five minutes before her alarm on Thursday morning. She then lies in bed for ten minutes, wondering if she should go to school.

Blake still hasn’t contacted her. To be fair, Yang hasn’t sent anything to Blake either. But really. Yang is the one who busted through a table back first. Yang is the one posting about a new girlfriend. Yang is the one who missed class. Blake is the one who should be blowing up her scroll going, “What’s going on?!!”

Yang gets out of bed and starts getting dressed. She needs to look Blake in the eye and see recognition staring back at her. She puts on one of her oldest flannel shirts. The fraying orange fabric smells like her grapefruit lotion and wraps her body like a hug. She needs it.

This time, Taiyang isn’t surprised when Yang asks for a ride. In his mind Yang is fine and things have settled down. The three of them ride together in amiable silence. Thursday means school color day for Ruby. This is her least favorite day of spirit week given her propensity for black and red and her school’s poor decision to be represented by gold and blue Champions. She’s got gold and blue ribbons around her wrists, though, with more in her lap for other color-challenged people.

“Penny will look good with these in her hair,” Ruby says from the back seat.

“That’s nice,” Yang says, a normal response.

Still, Ruby says, “Sis, does your back hurt?”

Yang twists a little so she can see Ruby’s concerned expression. “No. Well. Less than yesterday. Why?”

“You’re being pretty quiet.” Ruby shrugs.

Yang turns back around. She takes a second to readjust the seatbelt around her neck, but her throat still feels tight. “I’m just tired.”

“Your stitches come out on Saturday, right?” Taiyang asks.

“Yes, dad, I’ve told you like three times.”

Taiyang shakes his head. “I’ll write it down once we drop Ruby off.”

Yang closes her eyes and sinks into her seat. This is a normal car ride, like a million others before it. She is going to a normal class. Yet another that she doesn’t like, but not one she’s doing badly in. Yang knows that it’s the thought of seeing Blake that’s making her stomach so heavy it should be dragging along and throwing up sparks under the car.

Yang plods into the building, up three flights of stairs. She takes her usual seat. It’s not like Blake won’t see her if she sits a chair away. Yang isn’t sure what she’s so scared of. It’s not like Blake is going to taunt her for being a dumbass and tearing her back up.

Yang watches as other students file in. Big brown dude with a neck tattoo. Bigger asian guy with shoulders that could probably hold up the sun. Scrawny ginger who looks like she still writes “scene/pastel goth” on her profiles. Yang doesn’t really know anyone in this class, but she’s gotten familiar with their outlines.

When Mr. Demos walks in, five minutes to eight as always, panic spikes in Yang’s chest. Where’s Blake? Did she drop this class? It’s a ridiculous thought, but it flashes through Yang’s mind. Somehow that would be worse than having to see Blake again. Blake would get to disappear from Yang’s life, and Yang would have to walk around campus with the constant fear of running into her. And someday, hot and sweaty with a bad grade burning in her backpack-boom! There Blake would be, coming up the street, and Yang would be forced to confront her on the street, dizzy and unprepared,or miss her last chance to have any sort of closure at all.

Blake slips in with a minute to spare. She’s wearing an old beanie and yoga pants.

“Hey,” She says, with a tiny smile. Like it’s any other morning.

Anger cascades down Yang’s chest, white-hot like a waterfall of lava.

This is what she was scared of. This utter nonchalance. Like everything that happened doesn’t matter at all.

Apparently, when someone kisses someone else and leaves you lying in a pool of blood and glass, they do not, in fact, care all that much about you.

With that thought, Yang’s anger segues into nausea. She stares at her notebook, but that doesn’t help. Mr. Demos seems to have decided to teach this lesson in greek. Yang turns her head so she’s looking at Mr. Neck-Tattoo. She traces the ornate letters with her eyes, trying to calm herself.

It’s not like Yang has never been turned down before. It happened at a bar, at a school dance, and there was that time Beth Clonan called her a dyke. But that was different. Those were random people, or, in Beth’s case, someone she’s made out with enough that she could yell, “I wouldn’t have been kissing you if I wasn’t!”

She didn’t spend months flirting with those people, getting closer and closer, finally ready to make her move. She hadn’t gone from, “I bet you like me” to “You wouldn’t care if I died, would you?” in one shattering moment.

Mr. Demos said, “So Anderson’s thesis is that harmony is only possible through concentrated integration.” so Yang wrote it down.

Suddenly Yang thought of Weiss. Jesus christ, she was such an idiot. ‘I don’t want Blake to know I cared’. If Yang really thought that, she wouldn’t have gone to such great lengths to prove how little she cared. She wouldn’t have started dating the first girl she saw, like the rich girl in a teen movie, desperate for daddy’s attention.

Thinking about Weiss only adds another fucked-up dimension to the game of 5-D chess that Yang is realizing she lost. Weiss is a nice girl, from what Yang can tell. She’s a lot nuttier and easier to hang out with than Yang expected from the prim-and-proper way Weiss carries herself. In fact, Yang is starting to like that duality. Weiss strikes her like the kind of girl who could jokingly call herself a useless lesbian, and then turn around and murder someone who aimed a slur at her head.

If she even likes girls.

Yang barely resists the urge to bury her face in her hands. Seriously? Now she’s having thoughts like this? Right in the middle of this Blake cluster-fuck?

Somehow Yang makes it to the end of class without her atoms vibrating apart and scattering around the room from the sheer chaotic energy residing in her body. With three minutes of class time to spare Blake slips her laptop into her bag and leaves. Yang follows her.

“Hey!” Yang calls when they reach the front steps of the sociology building, “Where you headed?”

“Home. I actually have a flight to catch in the morning.”

“Did something happen? You hate going home for the weekend.” Yang doesn’t know what Blake’s issues with her parents are, though. Or even where exactly she lives. At the rate things are going it looks like those questions will stay unanswered.

Blake hesitates. She holds her laptop over her chest like it might protect her. “Look, Yang, about last weekend,” She begins

The door to the building opens and shuts, disgorging students. The trees along the side walk rustle their leaves impatiently. The sun inches further up between the buildings. Blake says nothing.

“Are you going to apologize?”

Blake’s spine goes rigid. “Apologize?”

“For leaving me there?” Yang says. She’s pissed, and even more so at the way her voice tilts up at the end of the sentence, as though that could ever be a question. “You know, how I was bleeding? And you just ran away? And you haven’t even asked me if I’m okay? Maybe you could apologize for _that_.” Yang spits the last word hard enough to cut the question mark from it.

“I wanted to explain. I’m on a scholarship, but I have a record. Nothing serious, but if I got caught trespassing, especially when someone was injured-“

“I was just a fucking liability to you?!”

Blake flinches. Out of the corner of her eye Yang sees heads swivel towards them.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m trying to explain,” Blake says, in a voice so cool and level it makes Yang’s head vibrate like it’s about to explode.

“Explain Ilia, then. Explain how you let me flirt with you for _months_ , even though you wanted her instead.”

Blake’s eyes go soft. “You were flirting with me?”

Yang’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt before changing tracks entirely.

“I mean, I thought maybe you were flirting, but you’re just so over the top-“

A horn honks, startling them both. Yang’s head snaps towards the source, and there’s Weiss in her shiny rich-girl car.

“My ride’s here,” Yang says. It’s that or start crying, and she really can’t be giving Blake any more of her dignity today. She swings her backpack off her shoulder so it won’t hit her back as she runs.

Blake says something, or maybe she doesn’t. It wouldn’t make a difference, either way.

Weiss can see Yang coming, but it’s still a shock the way she flings open the door and throws herself inside.

“ _Go_ ,” Yang says through gritted teeth, and Weiss nearly slams on the gas and crashes into the posts barring her car from inner campus. She catches herself and instead executes a rapier sharp three-point turn before speeding off down the street.

Yang is crying. Weiss is going way too fast down a small street swarming with students. They’re crossing in the cross walk, they’re crossing in the street, they’re walking in the street right by the curb like they can’t be bothered to step up onto the sidewalk. Images of gore splattered windshields flash through Weiss’ mind, and she wants to slam the breaks, except Yang said ‘ _Go_ ’ like she was holding the jagged edges of her heart together, and now the way she’s crying sounds like it’s broken for good.

Somehow, Weiss careens across the street into the parking lot of a smoothie shop and comes to a non-accidental stop.

“Are you okay?” Weiss asks Yang, tugging at her seatbelt so she can turn to face her. She feels a little dizzy, but it’s fine, she’s fine. Yeah, that was maybe her most reckless driving ever, but they’re both sitting here, and they’re fine, and even if she gets a ticket, it will all be fine as long as they’re fine.

Yang groans. Okay, she’s not all that fine, but she’s not bruised or bloody.

Or dead.

Weiss swallows hard and breathes out until her stomach caves in. This isn’t about her issues with cars. This is about Yang and her issues with catgirls.

“I’m so stupid!” Yang groans, the end of the sentence curling into a sob.

“What happened?” Weiss asks, not sure she’ll get an answer.

Yang makes a really long, gross snorting sound until Weiss remembers the tissues in her purse and hands one to Yang.

“Just like you,” Yang says with a sniff, and smile that’s all confused and bent up because she’s still crying. “You’re always prepared.”

“I try,” Weiss says. She wonders what Yang likes to do after she cries. Weiss makes tea to calm herself. It washes the taste of metal and salt out of her mouth. She has a feeling Yang isn’t into dainty shit like that.

Yang swipes at her eyes. “I just-I liked her so much I forgot that she had to like me, too. I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I’m an _idiot_ ,” Yang says, but the way she draws the word out is comedic, rather than tortured. She manages to laugh a little, even if it’s a bit twisted. “You wouldn’t know the feeling. You probably only get worked up about super serious stuff.” She blows her nose with a honk that shakes the car.

“I wish. One time my sister refused to take me to the store to buy leftover Easter candy, unless I agreed to drive. So I told her boyfriend that she told me she would never, ever, ever, _ever_ have sex with him. Her words,” Weiss adds, so she doesn’t sound more childish than she was.

Yang laughs, though it turns into a cough that dislodges a few more tears. “Wow. Why was she even dating him, then? Was it, like, a high school thing?”

“No, she was doing undergrad here already,” Weiss says, “I think after high school she was just out to prove she could get a boyfriend.”

“There’s nothing worse than people who are in a relationship for the wrong reasons,” Yang says, and her voice hangs heavy on the words.

“Referring to anyone in particular?”

Yang shakes her head. “My dad got remarried after my mom left, and even I know he wasn’t over her. Don’t get me wrong, Summer was an amazing mom, but I hope I never wind up settling for someone amazing when my heart still belongs to an asshole. You know?”

Weiss nods like she does, but what she really knows in this moment is what it feels like to be Summer.

“You want to get a smoothie?” Weiss asks, gesturing at the store behind them.

“Nah, I already had breakfast. I wanna go to the boba place and get jalapeno poppers and a slush.”

Weiss can’t stop herself from making a face. “You’re full, and you want sketchy jalapeno poppers from a boba place?”

“Not full,” Yang says, and the glint in her eyes is only half tears, “I just don’t need sustenance. I’ve been crying! I need sugar and fried shit, quick.” She sticks her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, “Otherwise I might start crying again.”  
Weiss rolls her eyes, but she puts the car in drive. “The one on Richmond, right?”

“Yup!”

Yang starts doing a happy shimmy even though her eyes are still bloodshot. She is so excited it perks Weiss up, too. Once they’ve placed their orders and are waiting for them at a table, Weiss says, “We should take some photos.”  
“Here?” Yang glances around the cafe with its’ bright plastic colors and then scrubs at her face. “Nah, I don’t want her to know I was crying.”

“I was thinking about that,” Weiss says. Actually she was thinking about sitting in Yang’s lap, but this works too. “I don’t think it should be a photo of our faces.”

Yang quirks an eyebrow at her. “Something scandalous?” She says with a little smirk.

“Yes,” Weiss says, as evenly as she can. She comes around the table and angles herself sideways beside Yang. “I’m going to sit on you,” She says, a warning rather than a request, because she’s already doing it, her thighs across Yang’s. Yang automatically puts her hand on Weiss’ back to steady her.

Weiss considers Yang from roughly three inches away. She wants to fall on the floor and beat it with her fists like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. _She’s so pretty and she smells better than chicken korma and her hand is so soft! I wanna touch her I wanna touch her I wanna!_

Instead Weiss tries to remember why she’s doing this.

“Give me your scroll,” She says, and then feels a little silly when Yang reaches around her to take it off the table. It is more effort for Yang to grab it than Weiss, but Yang doesn’t complain. She presents Weiss with her scroll, palm up like she’s serving it on a tray.

“Okay,” Weiss says, unlocking the camera, “Unbutton your shirt. Wait-You’re wearing something underneath that, right?”

“Nope. Bras are too hard on my back right now.”  
“Well, my idea was that I would take a picture of my hand over your heart, and you could post it with some cutsey caption about how sweet your girlfriend is.”  
“Cool,” Yang says, “But could you unbutton it for me? Little awkward like this.”

Actually, it is very awkward for Weiss to do it as well, partially because of the angle, and partially because Yang is idly stroking her back. It’s hard to concentrate, and suddenly a normal thing people do on a hot day-well, normal if they do it to themselves-is making Weiss feeling like she is opening a porno.

“Okay,” Weiss says. Her voice shakes a little, and she’s breathing way too hard, and she’s watching Yang’s chest rise and fall and she has to hold up Yang’s scroll and flip open the camera before she loses her nerve.

“Hold still,” Weiss says as she angles the camera how she wants it, and the hand on her back stills. That’s worse. When not in motion the head of Yang’s hand starts searing through Weiss’ shirt.

Weiss holds her hand over the spot where she wants to put it, under the collar of Yang’s open shirt, between her chest and collarbone. She waits a moment, so Yang knows what she’s about to do. Weiss stares resolutely through the camera at her hand. She can’t look up. If she looks Yang in the eye right now all her feelings are going to slam together in her chest and send her heart shooting out from between her ribs like a bleeding projectile.

And who knows where it will land.

Yang places her hand over Weiss, pressing it to her skin.

Weiss takes the photo.

“Royal milk tea with boba?”  
Weiss starts so badly she knocks into the table behind her. Yang gasps, then laughs.

“You okay?” Yang asks.

Weiss nods and stands up straight. She accepts her boba from the waitress, cheeks burning. Yang receives her poppers and a honey slush. She sips at it while checking the picture. Weiss is so excited when Yang gives it a serious nod of approval that she’s a little disgusted with herself.

“This is awesome,” Yang says. “Damn, _I’m_ almost jealous of me.” She turns the scroll around so Weiss can see it better. It’s gorgeous. The contrast between their skin, Weiss’ carefully buffed nails, Yang’s worn flannel.

“We go together,” Weiss says. It’s a silly remark she expects Yang to brush off right away.

“Like gin and lit matches,” Yang says with a little smirk. Then she glances at the photo again and her face softens. She sits up straight and stretches in the careful way she’s developed. She cracks her neck and runs her fingers through her hair, and smiles that sleepy smile that does Weiss in. “Seriously though, thank’s for this, Dame Weiss.”

Weiss heart stops. It trips, stumbles, and skips right past a beat. “Dame?” She says, her voice higher and more wavery than she wanted.

Yang looks like maybe she did something wrong. “Yeah. It’s what a woman becomes if she’s knighted. You didn’t like princess, so-I don’t know, it’s dumb.”

“No, no, it’s great. It’s super cute.” Weiss almost winces when she says ‘cute’. It’s such a shitty word to describe what Yang has just done. It’s like Yang found a videotape of all those fantasies Weiss used to have about being high dame to the queen. Loyal, loved, and deadly in combat-that particular day dream got her through a lot of long, boring training sessions.

And Yang just says it at ten am on a random Thursday in the middle of a boba place Weiss would still believe has roaches.

Weiss stares at her boba. “I love it,” She says, because it’s true and she can’t leave her words on ‘cute’. She can’t look at Yang though, smiling and perfect, red-eyed and still strung out on Blake.

Weiss takes a sip of her boba so she has something to grind between her teeth. It’s time to bite the bullet. She probably won’t be getting a girlfriend out of this, but she needs to tell her family that she already has.


	7. Chapter 7

“That was way more boring than I thought it would be,” Ruby says as they leave the hospital.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Taiyang says.

Ruby considers this. Yang feels a little weird. She was also expecting something a little more exciting. As it stands, she’s all hopped up from the adrenaline that rushed through her every time she felt the tug of a stitchbeing cut, mixed with the relief when she found out that was the worst of it.

Yang enters the hospital parking garage, head floating a few inches off her neck, shoulders loose, stride easy.

Then Ruby says, “So, Yang, when is your girlfriend going to stay for dinner?”

“You have a girlfriend?” Taiyang says. He turns to Yang, but he does it so fast he goes all the way around.

“How do you know about that?!” Yang has never referred to Weiss as her girlfriend in front of Ruby. Only her friend.

“You’ve been posting about her on tumblr.”

“You don’t even follow me on tumblr!”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Just because I don’t want your vague thirst-posts clogging up my dash doesn’t mean I don’t check sometimes.”

“What’s a thirst post?” Taiyang asks.

Yang dives for the car, but of course they follow her.

“Have you met this girl?” Taiyang asks Ruby as he starts the car.

“Once. It’s a pretty new thing, I think. She’s pretty. Really WASP-y. Bleached white hair.”

“The hair’s genetic,” Yang mumbles from behind her arms. They’re folded over her face to block out as much embarrassment as possible.

“Whoa,” Ruby says, “Forget WASP-y, that’s straight up nordic.”

Taiyang clears his throat. “So, when _is_ she coming over for dinner?”

Yang sighs through her nose. There is a pause as the rest of the car waits for her answer.

“Do you remember,” Yang begins, still speaking through her arms, “When I tried to come out to you?”

“I remember,” Ruby says, you made me listen to a Melissa Etheridge song and then asked me if I knew what a lesbian was.”

“I was ten,” Yang says in her defense, “And I was talking to dad.” Yang lowers her arms enough to watch her dad drum his fingers on the steering wheel and furrow his brows.

“Not really.”

“That’s because when I tried to tell you, you told me I’d already told Summer, like, five times.”  
“That’s right!” Taiyang says, recognition dawning on his face, “You were six, I think, and you kept telling her you had a crush on-whatzit-Belle or something.”

“It was Belle,” Yang says. “Man, I loved that movie.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Ruby says.

Yang sighs. She picks up her scroll and starts texting Weiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, short chapter this time. Hopefully I'll have another one up on Tuesday.


	8. Chapter 8

Weiss is sitting on the couch, putting her fingers in her mouth and then pulling them out again, trying to remember that she has stopped biting her nails. Dad comes back from London on Sunday, so Weiss invited Winter over for dinner tonight. Just a nice, normal thing one sister might do for the other. The basics. Spinach salad, mashed potatoes, cheesy green beans, mom’s old brisket recipe, and crème brûlée with lavender short bread for dessert.

Weiss has been in the kitchen all day, trying to think only about cook times and the fact that she made a ten pound brisket for two people, and now will be eating it for the next two months. She was too nervous to try and cut the recipe down from how she remembered it. She knows it’s one of Winter’s favorites. They’re all Winter’s favorites. Just like how Weiss is still Winter’s favorite sister.

At least until she comes out and then that little blow torch she bought sets the house on fire.

Winter’s key hits the door and Weiss almost jumps out of her skin. “Coming!” She yells, but Winter is inside before Weiss can even skirt the new coffee table.

“It smells amazing in here,” Winter says, dumping her purse on the chest of drawers by the door like she still lives here. “What is that?”

“Brisket,” Weiss says, smoothing the front of her dress.

“You made brisket?!” Winter’s decorum vanishes in her mad dash for the kitchen. She lifts the lid of the slow cooker and inhales deeply. “Wow,” She sighs. She glances into the dinning room and notices the other dishes laid on the table. “And mashed potatoes!”

Winter crosses to the table and sticks her finger right into the cloud of fluffy potatoes. It takes Weiss aback a little. She isn’t used to Winter lustily scarfing down potatoes like she hasn’t eaten in days.

“Hey,” Winter begins, licking the last of the potato off her finger, “Do you remember that Qrow guy from the hospital?”

“Yeah…?”

Winter pops back into the kitchen and swings open the fridge. “Do we have juice?”

“You hate juice.”

“I love juice. I just don’t drink it because it’s basically straight sugar.” Yet Winter grabs the apple juice and begins pouring herself a glass. “Anyway, I bumped into him the other day and—have you been hanging out with his niece?”

Weiss leans against the kitchen counter and grips it for support. “Yeah. Um, actually-“

“Right, that’s what I thought. He showed me this post she had on instagram or something, and it had this caption, like, ‘Chilling with my girlfriend,’ and I said-“

“Yeah,” Weiss says over her sister’s chatter, “Yes, I’m dating his niece. Yang. I’m dating-“ Weiss’ face crumples. She can’t get the words out. This is worse that telling her sister she’s a lesbian because somehow it’s a lie, and she hates that it’s a lie.

“Oh-oh my god-Weiss!”

Weiss is crying. Her chest is caving in. Her lungs are crushed, and still she’s trying to pull in air. She’s so stupid and crazy and awful. She is so scared that Winter and her father aren’t going to love her anymore. She’s scared all the time, of everything, but especially cars. She’s scared of girls hitting on her and also never getting a girlfriend. Every time Winter isn’t sitting next to her she’s scared she’s going to die. Every time her dad gets on a plane Weiss is sure it’s going down, and even if she hates her dad sometimes, she doesn’t know what she would do if he got hurt.

Weiss is kind of talking, but she doesn’t know if she’s intelligible. She can’t breathe, because she’s crying so hard. It’s like when she was a kid, and she truly would cry more than her lungs could take. She almost passed out crying like that once, and for a second it feels like that’s happening again, before Weiss realizes that Winter is pulling her towards the floor. Winter’s hold on her gets tighter and tighter until Weiss feels like her shoulder blades are being pushed together. It almost hurts, but the pressure makes it too hard to cry, and her tears subside.

Winter is breathing in Weiss’ ear, loud and raspy, and for a few minutes it’s a good distraction from her thoughts. Slowly the kitchen tile starts to bite into Weiss’ legs, and Winter’s hug begins to ache in earnest.

Weiss and Winter wind up on the couch. Weiss is eating the crème brûlée that didn’t set quite right, and Winter has the bowl of mashed potatoes in her lap.

“Okay, first of all, you need to go to therapy,” Winter says, sounding oddly like an authority as she waves a spoonful of potatoes around for emphasis.

Weiss pokes at her soupy pudding. “I don’t know if I need _therapy_ , exactly.”

Winter sighs a little. “Weiss,” She gently nudges Weiss’ foot with her own, “Okay, I said that wrong. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I just meant, some of that stuff you said…It’s normal to have anxiety at your age, but-”

“Don’t talk like you’re my grandmother,” Weiss says, but there’s a smirk in it.

Winter laughs a little, enough to lighten her tone. “Look, I’m just saying, it’s been a few years now, since the accident. It might feel good to talk to someone about it.” Winter gives her potatoes a soft, sad look. “It might have been good for you to talk to someone when it happened, but the three of us were all so closed off…” Winter shakes off her melancholy expression and levels Weiss with a sincere gaze. “I’ve been in and out of therapy for a while now. It’s part of the reason I’ve been trying to be around more. I feel like I let you down right after mom died. Dad’s never been good emotionally, but I-“

“It wasn’t your fault,” Weiss interrupts. “Just cause you’re my big sister doesn’t mean you always have to take care of me. I’m not sure about therapy right this second but-” She nudges Winter’s foot back, “-I’m happy that you’re hanging around more.”

Winter smiles, and Weiss feels like the topic of their mother has been properly shelved for the night, instead of abruptly dropped as usual.

“So, also…” Winter says, acting way too nonchalant to radiate anything but nerves. “There’s also this Yang girl?”

Weiss sighs. “God, Winter, it’s so stupid. She asked me to pose for those pictures with her so that she could piss off this other girl who fucked her over.”  
“So you’re not having sex with her?”

Weiss’ chokes on her pudding. She had been expecting, ‘So you’re not a lesbian?’, or even, ‘So you’re not…?’.

“Sorry,” Winter says over Weiss’ sputtering, “In the photo Qrow showed me you were in her bed, wearing old pajamas. I assumed.”  
“That was staged. I mean, I was just wearing her clothes. We didn’t do anything. Like I said, she’s doing it all to impress this other girl.”  
“Impress?”

Weiss shrugs and looks away. “It’s complicated. That girl left Yang here after she hurt her back, and Yang wanted to prove that it all had no effect on her.”

“I see,” Winter says slowly, “So the two of you aren’t dating.”  
“Right.”

There is a moment of silence as Weiss wrestles with the words.

“I mean, I would like it if we were. Yang is-I know you think she’s an idiot, and I guess she kind of is, but she’s also super sweet, and beautiful, and-oh!-she has a little sister and she’s always looking out for her-“

Winter holds up one hand. “Trust me, I’m in no position to judge.”

Weiss’ eyebrow arches. “Really? You’ve only ever dated nice jewish guys.”

Winter scuffs the carpet with her foot. “It was a one time thing, but last year I kind of fell into bed with…let’s call him a scruffy catholic.”

Weiss’ eyebrows go from ‘delicate arch’ to ‘fuckin’ McDonalds’ real quick. “Seriously? You?”

Winter holds up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just saying, I’m in no position to judge.”

Weiss studies her sister for a moment. She can’t imagine Winter having a one night stand. Is this anything like what Winter is feeling right now?

“So, you’re not actually dating?” Winter repeats.

“No. But I like her. I want to date her.”

Winter nods. “You’re fake dating, and she’s still hung up on somebody else. Damn.” Winter laughs a little. “See, this is the kind of stuff you can’t fix with therapy.”

Weiss smiles. “Any other ideas?”

“Well, taking a page from my trip down scruffy catholic lane…”

“Seriously, sis, what the fuck?”

Winter’s head falls back on the sofa, and her laughter is a sweet sound. This is not the dinner Weiss was hoping for; For once, it’s better.

“Hey,” Winter says, “I said I wasn’t judging, so you don’t get to judge either! I’m trying to tell you to go for it. Trust me, it’s so much better to try. Even though it’s scary, even if she says no…I mean, you’ve been scared of driving for years. But you do it all the time. You’re brave, Weiss, and I’m sure this beautiful idiot is worth way more than a trip to the grocery store.”

Weiss takes a deep breath. She shouldn’t need permission, but hearing Winter say that is as close as she’ll get. “You might be right.”

There is a moment of comfortable silence.

“You aren’t going to marry a catholic guy, are you? Dad would have a fit.”

“I think he’ll be delighted. As long as I tell him about your girlfriend first.”

Weiss nearly yeets her pudding dish directly into Winter’s potatoes, but instead she takes a deep breath and pushes her sister off the couch.


	9. Chapter 9

Yang is laying on the dining table, her head and scroll hanging off the end. The pressure of the wood feels good on her stomach, or at least isn’t hurting her back.

Weiss hasn’t texted her back.

It’s Sunday afternoon and Yang has that Sunday afternoon feeling. Restless to do something, but nothing appeals to her.

Penny and Ruby are on the couch studying, although that turned into watching cartoons about an hour ago. Yang raises her head to see what position they’re in. Penny has her back against an armrest, her legs spread out across the sofa cushions. Ruby is pressed into the back of the couch, her knees hooked over Penny’s. It’s a weird position, not quite cuddling, but more intimate than most friends would arrange themselves.

Yang flops back down and opens her texts as though her scroll hasn’t been sitting silently in her hand the entire time.

“I don’t know if Weiss can come to dinner next week,” Yang yells over the sound of a time portal opening on the tv screen.

Penny pauses the cartoon. “Who’s Weiss?”

“My sister’s new girlfriend,” Ruby says.

“Do you have a picture of her?” Penny loves knowing what people look like.

Yang pushes herself forward until her head is bent over the edge of the table. “I’ve got a million pictures,” She groans.

“You’re being weird,” Ruby says.

Yangs looks up to find the two of them peering at her over the back of the couch. “ _I’m_ being weird?” She says, as though the two of them are doing anything remotely abnormal.

“Lying on tables is a little weird,” Penny whispers to Ruby.

“I think it’s weird that she sounds so depressed. Do you think they’re already on the rocks? After a week?”

“They’ve only been dating for a week?”

The girls are whispering about Yang like she’s a celebrity they think might be at the brunch table next to them.

“It’s been a very long week,” Yang says to the floor.

“That’s not good,” Penny says to Yang, “You shouldn’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”

“She does make me happy, it’s just…ugh.” Yang rolls off the table and pockets her scroll. Blood rushes from her head, and her scars ache. For a second she feels her heartbeat all over her body.

Yang manages not to groan again as she walks into the kitchen. Should she text Weiss again, or be grateful she hasn’t answered?

“Hey,” Ruby says as she walks into the kitchen. She tosses a soda can in the recycling bin and opens the fridge for some more snacks. “ _Are_ you alright?”

“Weiss hasn’t texted me back about dinner.”

“Maybe you should text her again. She might have seen it, but then she was busy and forgot you sent it. Or she got too excited and is trying to play it cool.”  
Yang sighs. “I don’t think that’s it. I was all freaked out the last time I saw her, and I said this dumb thing just because she used to fence and I think it annoyed her, and…” Yang traces her fingers over the formica countertop.

Ruby pulls a cheesecake out of the fridge and sets it on the counter.

“Where did that come from?” Yang asks.

Ruby shrugs. “I’m trying out a new no-bake recipe. Penny likes them so I made it before she came over.” Ruby runs a knife under the tap before making the first cut. “She was right, you know.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”

Yang slides down the cabinets to the floor. “Jesus, sis, it’s not like that. Weiss isn’t hurting me. She and I just aren’t exactly dating. That’s all.”

Ruby stops cutting, her knife sunk deep in the cheesecake, so that she can stare at Yang. “What does that mean? Didn’t you ask her out?”

“Um.”

Ruby gives up on cake cutting all together and joins her sister on the floor. “Did she ask you out?”

“You remember Blake?”

“That girl from your philosophy class?”

“Right. So, uh, I was trying to impress her by dancing on a table-“

Ruby puts her hands over her eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Right. I fell, she ran, Weiss took me to the hospital, and while I was there I thought-I didn’t want Blake to know that I was hurt-I mean, about her leaving me like that, not after tearing my back up-so I asked Weiss to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

Ruby bursts out laughing, her hands still covering her eyes. “Seriously?” She asks, peeking at Yang from between her fingers.

“Seriously,” Yang says with a giggle in her voice.

“But you fell for Weiss.”

Yang flushes. “I didn’t fall for her. It’s not like I’m in love. And I’m not magically over Blake now, either.” Yang rubs at her shoulder. “The stitches are out, but it’s all barely scabbed over, you know?”

Ruby doesn’t meet Yang’s eye for a second. She taps out a rhythm on the tile before coming to a conclusion. “I know this might sound dumb, but I don’t think that doesn’t mean you can’t ask Weiss out in a not-fake way.”

Yang’s brow furrows. “I can’t tell if that was dumb or not. You used a lot of negatives.”

“I mean, if you want to ask her out, you should.”

“It doesn’t feel that simple.”

“I didn’t say it was simple,” Ruby says to the tile. “It’s like, well, Penny and me.”  
“What do you mean?”

Ruby puts her heels up so she can rock back and forth a little. “Well, we both wanted to date each other, but neither of us…”

It’s strange seeing Ruby so uncomfortable. Yang waits patiently for her to get her thoughts in order.

“I’m asexual, and Penny’s autistic, and she isn’t totally sure how she feels about sex. Sometimes it feels like everyone in a relationship is having sex, they’re thinking about sex, they’re working their way towards it, and Penny and I are over here trying to figure out the best positions for cuddling.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know. What I mean is, we’re still girlfriends. We’re figuring out what that means together. So, maybe you and Weiss didn’t, like, go on a blind date and then keep dating and it’s all going along smoothly. Maybe you still have a lot of feelings about someone else. Maybe Weiss doesn’t want to date you for real. But just because your relationship isn’t as normal as you want it to be, doesn’t mean you can’t decide that’s the relationship you want to be in.”

Yang’s scroll buzzes loudly, caught between her back pocket and the tile. She automatically pulls it out.

Weiss: Sorry about the delay. I’d love to come over for dinner. What time is best for you?

“Holy shit,” Ruby laughs. “Did I just make that happen?” She stands up and holds out her hand for Yang to grab.

“Of course not,” Yang says as she stands. She leans as much weight as she can onto Ruby’s arm, but Ruby doesn’t topple like she used to do when they were little. Yet another piece of proof that she is growing up.

Yang gives Ruby’s cheek a poke. “You’ve just made it a lot easier to answer her.”


	10. Chapter 10

Weiss walks into the bakery and inhales deeply.

This is the best smell in the world, fresh bread and buttery pastry. The scent is almost palpable in the air, rising and falling, swirling around Weiss’ head like dust on a windy day.

The store is warm and full of sunlight, and as soon as Weiss steps inside her shoulders rise and her step lightens. Weiss gets in line and ruffles the crisp bills in her hand with her thumb. She loves the soft, papery smell of money, too, and likes the way it mixes with everything else in the air.

“Weiss?”

Weiss looks up. Ilia is at the counter, one hand already on a white paper bag. She isn’t wearing make-up now, and strands of her pony tail are stuck to her neck with sweat. She’s older, too. Her hair is much longer, and her eyes no longer eat up her whole face.

Weiss’ stomach drops to her feet. It breaks open and spills her breakfast over the linoleum.

“Wow,” Ilia says, “It’s-it’s been a long time.”

They stare at each other, and all the unsaid apologies piled up between them:

_I’m sorry I didn’t do anything when Andrea told you not to come back._

_I’m sorry I didn’t do anything when Micheal called you a faunus-fucker._

_I’m sorry your mom died._

_I’m sorry I avoided you._

“What kind of bread did you get?” Weiss blurts out. “I hope it wasn’t the last ciabatta!” Her voice sounds weird and fake in her ears.  
“Country french,” Ilia says, swinging the bag off the counter. “I don’t like the flour they put on top of ciabatta.” She gets a sad little smile, and says, concerned as though it hasn’t been three years since the accident. “You been doing okay?”

Weiss nods. “I’ve been fine. I stopped fencing.”  
“Me too,” Ilia cradles the bread to her chest. “It sucks, huh? It was so much fun, and then all that shit happened junior year, and I can’t even look at a saber or…” She trails off.

They both drift in an awkward miasma thicker than the smell of fresh bread.

Weiss was on auto-pilot that day at the gym. She hadn’t even known about the cave-in at the mines, or that Ilia was sympathetic to the workers. Not till someone called her ‘faunus-fucker’ for the last time and she burst into red and yellow bloom. Weiss had watched with detached horror as Ilia tried to kill Andrea Polowaski with her saber.

When Miss. Alden began asking everyone what had happened Weiss had burst into tears and hadn’t managed to say anything. Which was good, because Miss. Alden eventually called the incident, “A misuse of fencing equipment” rather than the attempted murder Weiss had witnessed.

“I’m sorry about what happened. How I just let everyone tease you,” Weiss says. She swallows at the stricken look on Ilia’s face. “I’m not asking to be forgiven, or anything, I just wanted to say it.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Ilia says. Ilia was at the party that Andrea threw Weiss out of. Her mom picked her up from the curb two blocks from Andrea’s house, and they got into the accident a street over. It may have contributed to Weiss inability to focus when Ilia slashed open one of Andrea’s arms a few weeks later over that final faunus comment.

“That was definitely not your fault,” Weiss says, and it’s utterly bizarre, but Winter’s words about going to therapy go through Weiss’ mind. Maybe it’s because this should feel like closure, but it so utterly fails to heal over the wound of the last three years. There must be more to moving on than hearing and apology and being able to sit in a car again. Weiss can feel it.

“Anyway, I have to get this bread,” Weiss says, gesturing at the counter. “I’m meeting my girlfriend’sfamily tonight, and I need it to impress them.”

Ilia laughs. “You came to the right place,” She shakes her bag, “Best bread in the city.”

Weiss smiles. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”  
“Same here”

Ilia heads for the door, and almost walks right into-holy shit it’s Blake.

Weiss swallows hard. Seriously? Is every women she’s ever had a complicated relationship with buying bread today?

“There you are!” Blake says, and fuck it but her voice is both husky and honeyed at the same time. Weiss feels like an old greying bed sheet that’s been hung out to dry next to all of Blake’s ebony and amber lustre.

“Hey,” Ilia says, “Sorry, I was talking to someone.” She nods towards Weiss.

Weiss meets Blake’s eyes, and Blake recognizes her just as lightening flashes in Weiss’ mind.

Oh god, the Ilia Yang was moaning about was _her_ Ilia? That’s Blake’s Ilia? Every woman’s Ilia?

“You’re Weiss, right?” Blake says, peering over Ilia’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Weiss glances over her shoulder, praying it’s her turn at the counter, but apparently the woman in front of her is feeding an army. She has three boxes of pastel de natas, and now there is an entire strudel headed her way.

“I mean, you’re dating Yang Xiao Long.”  
“Yes.” _God willing._

Ilia’s eyes light up. “You’re dating Yang? Wow, she’s so cool.”

“More like hot-headed,” Weiss says, then bites her tongue.

Ilia laughs, Blake doesn’t. Weiss wonders if Ilia knows how much Yang liked Blake. _Likes_ Blake?

Standing in front of Blake, Weiss can understand it. Blake is gorgeous, and tall, like Yang, and she has an arm around Ilia’s shoulders now, in an easy way that Weiss could never manage in public, and not only because she would have to reach too high up to cup Yang’s shoulders like that.

“That’s so funny,” Ilia is saying, “Weiss and I went to high school together.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Blake says. The veracity of the statement is irrelevant. Weiss recognizes the easy out Blake is creating.

“You too,” Weiss says. and with that Blake and Ilia are gone. Weiss turns back to the counter. The mouth watering scent of baked goods still hangs in the air, this is still the best bread in the city, but Weiss is no longer has any confidence in how this evening will play out.

* * *

 

The door bell rings and Yang nearly bursts from her skin. She has to grab the edge of the sink and catch her breath. She can't believe how scared she is. What is the worst that could happen? She says “I’m crazy about you,” and Weiss says, “Gross.”

Yang can see it actually. The exact way Weiss’ lip will curl. The way she’ll search for a word, before settling on the exactly the right one. She will be devastatingly succinct.

“Coming!” Yang yells. She runs to the door, just managing to cut Ruby off by hip checking her into the wall.

“What’s that?” Taiyang calls from his room.

“Weiss is here!” Ruby yells back.

Yang opens the door to find Weiss on the stoop. She’s wearing a white dress cut so the end of her bell sleeves hit the hem of her skirt. A little ethereal, a little sexy. It’s perfect.

Weiss clutches a white bag to her chest. Her arms are shaking, and her eyes pinball over Yang’s body. “Um,” She says.

“Hey,” Yang hangs in the doorway, not sure if she should invite Weiss in or let her talk.

“Um,” Weiss says again, and then she holds out the bag. “I brought bread, like you asked.”

“Oh, thanks.” Yang takes the bread, but she steps outside and closes the door behind her. “Are you okay? You look a little freaked out.”

Weiss stares at her shoes. Red ballet flats. Yang is perversely pleased by the scuff on the left toe. She hadn’t thought to dress as nicely as Weiss tonight. She probably doesn’t own anything as nice as Weiss’ dress, save for her prom dress. Between jeans and a cute crop top and that sheath of yellow silk, Yang would pick her jeans any day.

“How are things going with Blake?” Weiss blurts out.

“What?” Yang says, thrown to the back of her seat by the sudden shift in gears.

Weiss squares her shoulders, and meets Yang’s eyes. “I mean, are you still working on her? Are you going to introduce me to your dad and sister as your girlfriend?”

“Those are different things.”

Weiss hesitates.

The door behind Yang opens. “What-“ Ruby says.

Yang whirls on her sister, roars wordlessly, and tosses her the bread.

Ruby fumbles for the bag, catches it, and steps back into the house. “I’ll just let you finish, then.”

The door closes again, and Weiss bursts into laughter.

“If I did that to my sister,” Weiss says, gasping, “She would think I had completely lost it.”

Yang sticks her hands in her pockets and shrugs with a little smile. “This is important.”

“What is?”

“Me asking you to be my real girlfriend.” Yang leans forward. Her hands are still in her pockets, but she is towering over Weiss, forcing her to look up if she wants to meet Yang’s eyes.

Weiss freezes. Yang would swear she stops breathing for a second. Yang’s heart hovers in her chest, ready to plummet or soar.

“Are you sure?” Weiss says. “You haven’t known me that long. I can be really bitchy. I’m scared of everything. I have a million issues, and I’m short. And I have this really high pitched voice. I sound like Alvin trying to catfish a boy on Tinder, and…” Weiss trails off.  
Yang is staring at her, mouth hanging open. “Are turning me down because…you’re not good enough for me?”

Weiss hesitates. “It’s just…I came here to tell you that I want you to go out with me, and then you said that and I thought-I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you would like.”  
Yang has to bite back a smile. “You came here because you want me to be your girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Weiss says instantly.

Yang laughs and waves a hand at her shirt. “But why? I dress like a slob, and I talk shit, and I get bad grades. I’m a terrible flirt-meaning I do it all the time, _and_ suck at it. As soon as a girl saves my ass I propose a crazy scheme in the hospital. I’m a dumbass.”

Yang is closer to Weiss than she was before. She can’t stop herself from putting her hands on Weiss cheeks. “I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you would like. You’re beautiful, and not only would you kill for me, you have the skills to do. You saved my life at the party, not just my calling an ambulance, but by being so mad for me. You’ve made me laugh when I felt like shit, and you’ve made me feel safe when I was ripped open. You might have a million issues, but somehow even with them you have your shit more together than I ever will.”

Yang is so glad she put her hands on Weiss’ cheeks. She can feel her smile growing beneath them. Weiss stares at Yang for a moment, starry-eyed, before she can find the words she wants to say.

“I love how you dress. If you were any hotter, it would actually kill me.”  
Yang laughs, and almost moves her hands, but Weiss puts hers over Yangs to hold them in place.

“You can’t know how much I admire you. If I got my heart broken like that, I’d be nursing the pieces for a year, But you have fresh stitches, and you can turn to a girl and ask her to date you.”

“Fake date,” Yang manages to say through the enormous smile on her face.

“That’s even braver!” Weiss laughs. “You’re like lightening. I never know how you’re going to strike, but you light up the entire sky every time. You’re tall and beautiful, and I would give you my car if you would call me ‘dame’ again, and then kiss me.”  
“Dame Weiss, can I tell my family you’re my girlfriend?”

Weiss stretched onto her tiptoes and kissed Yang with firm, sure lips.

Lights flashed behind Yang’s eyes. She could feel Weiss’ hands, tight over her own, the brush of Weiss’ sleeves against her elbows, fuck, Yang could feel the ends of her own hair, but all her focus was on the warmth of Weiss lips pressed against her own.

“We’re eating without you!” Ruby says, shocking Weiss and Yang so badly their teeth clack together.

“Jesus christ,” Yang says, turning to where Ruby and Taiyang are standing by the door.

“This is great bread,” Taiyang says, holding up his buttered slice. “And from the ten seconds I’ve seen of you, you seem okay. Although, as Yang’s dad, I’m contractually obligated to tell you that I will shoot you if you hurt her.”

Weiss is bright red, but she levels Taiyang with one look. “You say that like Yang couldn’t shoot me herself.”

Ruby makes a great noise which might have been ‘oh, shit!’ if she wasn’t laughing so hard.

Taiyang smiles and shakes his head. “You raise strong, confident women, and suddenly you find out you’re obsolete.”

“Come on,” Yang says, wrapping an arm around Weiss’ shoulder and steering her towards the door. “Or else they really will eat it all without us.”


End file.
